


Like a Boy Killing Snakes

by Sadbhyl



Series: Teach Us Things Worth Knowing [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is the new head of Slytherin House.  He isn't the only one to question that decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Boy Killing Snakes

The long stone corridor was chilly despite the rugs and torches that lined it. Or maybe the chill was just nerves. John had only ever been down to this part of the dungeons once before, walking Artemesia Hemsworth back to her common room after the school Christmas party his sixth year. She'd even kissed him, a nice wet snog that might have gone on longer if three larger Slytherin boys hadn't come out the common room door and stopped to glare at them until Artemesia pinked up and pulled away. The boys hadn't let up staring at him until he turned the corner at the far end of the corridor to go back upstairs.

Still, it had been a good kiss.

The memory of it didn't help settle the nerves in his stomach now, though. He wasn't sixteen anymore. He had every right to be here, not just standing outside the common room to the House he was now in charge of, but actually going into it. The door itself stood open, with no need for the usual defenses outside of term when there were no students to protect. Once he finished, he would close it and set the first password for the year, ready for his students when they arrived the following week.

His students. His house.

It felt like a betrayal of his old school loyalties.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Buck up, Watson. Your own Head of House gave you the job. She's only got herself to blame for this." With a quick nod, he pushed himself into the room.

The common room was about as different from Gryffindor's as it could be. The chill from the corridor lingered in here, emphasized by the blue-green tinge seeping in through the enormous windows at the far end, holding back the water of the Black Lake and allowing him to look out through the forest of kelp swaying gently in the currents. Three long, black tentacles drifted lazily past one window rose, making John start until he realized it was most likely the giant squid clinging to the architecture outside. The ceilings in the room were incredibly high, easily three times the height of Gryffindor's, all carved or raw stone, cool and echoing. The few rugs and leather upholstered furniture did little to soften the sound. Ivy hung along the walls like bunting, and John wasn't sure if it had grown there or was an affectation in Slytherin green.

As deep in the castle as it was, the dungeon had taken little damage. There were still signs of a hurried departure by the students in the wake of the Death Eater invasion, proof that the house elves had been too busy with the other repairs to do much in the way of tidying.

He went down the nine stone steps into the room and began familiarizing himself with the space, all the places students could hide contraband or themselves should they be planning more than a casual snog. He pulled copies of _Nature's Nobility_ and _When Muggles Attack_ off the bookshelves and binned them. 

Then he headed back to the dormitories. 

Each room with its four poster beds he cleared of anything that would remind the students of their Death Eater teachers or reinforce traditional Slytherin prejudices. Each portrait was inspected and compared to a list John had gotten from Filch and shown to Professor Binns. Any that was marked by Binns on the list (it wasn't ink. Binns was a ghost, he couldn't use a pen. John hoped it wasn't blood.), John lightly tapped with his wand to cast a faint, luminescent glow around the frame, highlighting it from the others. These the house elves would remove, to be replaced with portraits of Slytherins John felt were better role models for the students. While the walls in the common room were largely decorated only by tapestries, in the halls and dormitories there were portraits everywhere, and it took John longer than he'd expected to go through all of them.

Finally he was able to return to the common room. One last look around showed him nothing more than a half-played chess board, pieces still arrayed despite their five month long hiatus. John paused to reset it.

"You don't belong here, boy," a low voice hissed at him.

He looked up with a start, but there was no one on the stairs.

"I know what you are, John Watson." There was a slight sibilance on his name, not quite a lisp, certainly not friendly. "Weak, damaged. Vulnerable."

He looked up at the portrait behind the chess table. It was tall, easily taller than him, and the man in it was nearly as tall, despite the tall, peaked hat on his head. He was slender, almost gaunt, and had a serpent coiled around one arm that swayed restlessly, watching John. "They won't accept you," the man went on. "You don't belong here."

John unclenched his wand hand, noting the sharp pain in his shoulder from the sudden, defensive clutch of his muscles. "I belong where the headmistress sends me. I am a professor here and head of this house. Just as you were, Professor Slytherin."

Slytherin sneered. "Professor you may be, but head of this house? No matter how much Minerva McGonagall may say it, it won't be true. Not a child of Gryffindor's. Not a Mudblood."

John's fist opened and closed again seemingly of its own accord. Looking into that cold, sneering face, he straightened, squared his shoulders and stared back. "You're right. I am Muggle-born. I spent seven months in Azkaban for it. I was tortured and humiliated, I was cold and sick and afraid. But you know what else I am? Here. I'm alive, while you are nothing more than a last, lingering shadow of a diseased family line that has finally had its last poisonous fruit plucked. And I'm going to do my best to make sure nothing like you ever grows in its place." With that, he drew out his wand and tapped the portrait frame once. The painting instantly glowed with a faint green nimbus. "I'm sure you'll like storage. Lots of paintings of shepherdesses and pig herders to keep you company. If you aren't crated up for protection." He turned on his heel and talked off.

"You can't be rid of me that easily, fool!" the portrait shrieked after him. "My portrait hangs everywhere in this school. I can go wherever I like."

John didn't look back. "Except to your own common room. Not while I'm here." He paused in the hall to close the door with a sweep of his wand. With a tap, he said quietly, "Shibboleth conscienti," setting the new password in place. Suddenly drained, he let his head fall against the stones.

"All right?" a cello of a voice spoke behind him. He turned to find Sherlock there, arms full of a box holding dozens of tiny vials.

"Yes, fine. Just getting the--" he gestured behind him, "--common room ready for the students."

Sherlock sniffed but said nothing.

"What are you doing down here? I thought you'd moved up to the Divination Tower."

"I needed to supervise the transition of some of the more delicate materials up from the supply room." He gestured with the box in his arms. "Thought I'd best see to these personally."

John picked through the vials. "Basilisk venom, unicorn blood, dragon's liver. Yes, I think you should. Hate to think what would happen to the dungeons if you dropped those."

Sherlock looked innocent, but John could see amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Now John, these aren't explosive, even in combination. If you want explosive, the Muggles have been all over that for years. No simple saltpetre for them."

"You realize that's not necessarily a good thing, right?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, yes, morals and ethics, but it's _interesting_! That's what's important!"

John glanced back over his shoulder, the chill of the common room that had little to do with temperature fading in Sherlock's presence. "You know what's important right now? Tea. You want some?"

Sherlock studied him, seemed to look right through him in that way that John was growing accustomed to. His eyes never moved, but John could swear he was taking in the wall behind him where the door was now hidden. "Tea would be lovely," he said finally, voice gentler.

"Right." John headed towards the stairs, just as he had on that night so many years ago. "And you can tell me all about Muggle explosives."

"Excellent."


End file.
